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Epiphany/Book One/Chapter 5
Jump, Push, Fall is the fifth chapter of Epiphany: Book One. The full chapter was released on February 8, 2016. Synopsis The Bolio family makes a surprising move in the face of duress, while Bryce and the rest of the New Venice council are unsure of how to handle Gwen amidst the revelation of what she is capable of. Appearances *Dylan Bolio *Robin Haggerty *Gray Bolio *Liz Burke *Enid Bolio *PJ Knapchuck *Jovelyn Lumana *Winnie Knapchuck *Declan Radke *Gwen Temple *Bryce Cunningham Jump, Push, Fall “Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important than fear.” ― Ambrose Redmoon So many questions couldn’t help but swirl in Dylan’s head. He couldn’t sleep. He kept wondering about the deepest philosophical and faith-based questions anyone could ask: All he wanted to do was sit in a La-Z-Boy chair, curl up and hold onto his knees. But he wouldn’t do that. There was no dignity in that. He’d hold onto his feelings instead of his knees and just let his mind race all night as he lay in his bed. It made him feel better about himself – not necessarily better overall, but he had nothing to be embarrassed about this way. He thought about God—about what he believed from the Bible. Jesus was supposed to come for his people, bring them to their resurrected bodies and leave the rest. Is this what was happening? Why was his family still here? His church? Is the entire thing a sham? He always had his doubts about stories in the Bible—he believed that many of them were metaphors for real issues. This was often Dylan’s way to justify the more fantastical things he’d read in the book, giving it a sense of reality and applying human logic. But now he was starting to wonder if any of it was even something he could place faith in. Then his mind lingered to his father, Anthony: Even after all he witnessed and discovered, his father did not give up his faith and the hope he spoke of in his message was something that Dylan wanted to carry with him. This made him proud, but also disappointed—disappointed in himself for nearly giving up so easily. Then the inner pessimist in his mind started to speak, like a faint whisper of a voice so familiar, Maybe it’s all bull crap and you just need to wake up. Then the doubts returned. It was a long night. Dylan prayed and eventually went to sleep, but he woke only a few hours later for the next morning’s service. It felt like he only slept for minutes. The day he pretended to be normal: Quipping witty lines in response to people who spoke to him, having an altogether apathetic attitude but still participating in praise and worship, but it all felt empty. He didn’t feel anything. It was almost as if God was gone. He spent more time observing everyone’s reactions to the worship than actually responding to it. Gray was so into it, though. He felt every single word, Dylan could tell. Their mother was more reserved. It was so tough to tell with her. The worship team even sang along to his favorite song, and Pastor Robin spoke, asking those who felt “doubt and disconnectedness” to respond to his altar call. People were dropping to their knees. Dylan just wasn’t feeling it. He left the sanctuary with a deeper emotion in his gut; a feeling that he missed a good opportunity. Maybe he needed to respond, and he missed out. Service was already wrapping up. It was too late. So Dylan kept his composure and decided to attend a meeting with Pastor Liz and the rest of the youth group directly after service. She wanted to know a little more about his “vision” for the group and needed everyone to be in attendance for a discussion on what, as a unified community, they can do to improve this church and in turn, reach outside of the building’s walls and build community outside. The church didn’t talk much about reaching out for the first few weeks, but in the past month, there have been different outreaches being tossed around as an idea to bring hope to the community outside. They only heard stories from the supply runners of the congregation on the horrors beyond their walls. There were only a few designated supply runners—all fit men in their prime state. Originally having a family was against the rules, but once the numbers started dwindling, family men had since joined that selective group. They only lost a few people in the two months this all went down, and those were all men from the supply group—terror stories of being mauled and beaten by those who look human but aren’t quite were stories that were advised not to be told to the youth. But things got around quickly, not especially difficult to imagine with such a relatively large group of people living in the same walls. Youth group discussions turned from deep conversations of the Bible to gossip of what was going on outside the church’s walls. It was all an intriguing, and some would say distracting, mystery. Dylan knew that he and his brother had differing opinions on this. Gray appreciated the unknowing. Dylan knew that Gray wanted to avoid hearing about this stuff for as long as he possibly could, but the elder Bolio could not help but be heated and inspired by this. He was excited by the prospect of outreaches and helping people outside the walls. He knew it’d be dangerous, but it excited him to be able to get out and do something. It was something that his father would do if he were here, and that alone was fuel to get Dylan going. He had all sorts of ideas in his head, like setting up a tent outside and welcoming in, and feeding, the needy. Building an extra add-on to the church and expanding their space to allow more people to live there, and have better accommodations, was something that was discussed as well. He made a detour to the bathroom before the meeting, letting Gray go ahead of him. After he was finished in the restroom, he made his way to the large room that was used as space for their youth group meetings. As he approached the double doors, he heard crying and sobbing from inside the room. He opened the door cautiously, and stepped inside. He saw all of his friends huddling up and hugging each other, tears streaming down their faces. Fear in their eyes. Then he found Gray, on his knees, arms raised, praying with a stance and attitude of pleading for mercy. Pastor Liz stood up front, trying to console herself as she addressed the group, saying into the microphone, “…Arrangements are being made. We will have a ceremony of life tomorrow.” Dominic’s dead, Dylan thought. It was the only thing that made sense. “What happened?” he asked one of his classmates, a petite girl named Clara who had the strangest eyes – blue as the sky, so widely spread apart, but still so pretty and attention-grabbing. Rumors spread about her and every boy in the youth group except for Dylan, he didn’t know whether or not to take that as a compliment or an insult from his peers. Her answer was as expected – Dominic died in his sleep the night before. Dylan didn’t know quite exactly how to process this. There were not many emotions being worked out in his head. The only thing Dylan prayed for; selfishly, instinctively, was for no foul play. Because he remembered, and he was sure that Gray did too, that after leaving Dominic’s room the night before, Pastor Liz and Pastor Robin crept into his room for prayer. The desperation the pastors had been feeling in the wake of the recent revelations on the Plague’s nature made them so unpredictable in Dylan’s eyes that he started to believe a covered-up euthanasia to be a possibility. An element of trust has been lost, and Dylan didn’t know whether this was an admirable trait to gain or if trust over others was a terrible thing to lose. After prayer, Dylan noticed that Gray slipped away unbeknownst to him. Heading outside the room, he turned a corner and was about to approach the nearest bathroom. Whenever Gray was having a “moment”, he would always hole himself up in the bathroom. He always used to say that the tile in front of the toilet at home was the coldest and most comfortable place on earth when he wasn’t feeling up for anything. Dylan remembered that Gray would lie there in sickness, in sadness, in anger, just to rest up and soak up the cold. He thought it was weird until he tried it himself as he experienced a bout of flu. As he approached the door, he heard his mother’s voice. “Dylan… Dylan, please…” He turned to see her face. Her cheeks were soaking wet and makeup ruined in the fallout of her sadness. Black streaks, the aftermath of mascara, lined her pale face, falling through the curves and cracks of her skin down to her lips. “Get your brother. I’ve packed our things. We’re leaving.” “What? Why?” It was so sudden. For what reason would she think that would possibly be a good idea? They were protected at the church, safe. And while it was incredibly boring, it just felt illogical to leave. Just as Dylan was starting to find opportunities to fill the gaps of time with something worthwhile, his mother would come along to rip them away from him. “It’s not safe here anymore,” she said. “Just find your brother. Please.” She knows something, Dylan thought to himself. Something about Dominic, it has to be. He just nodded slowly to her. “I think he’s in here,” he said. “Will you explain in the car? If you’re going to make us leave, we at least deserve that much.” She nodded. He intended to hold her to that promise. Dylan pressed on the door with his weight and entered the bathroom. He heard the turning of a page and the sound of scribbling, which stopped once the perpetrator heard the shutting of the door behind Dylan. “Gray? Is that you?” he asked. “If it’s not, then let me know with a grunt or just scream at me or something and I’ll apologize and leave…” “They killed him, didn’t they?” Gray’s whimpering voice spoke from behind the stall door. His feet suddenly hung from the top of the toilet, visible to Dylan’s eyes now. His beat-up yellow Converse high-tops were unmistakable. Dylan moved toward Gray’s stall and pushed on the door. He didn’t even lock it. It swung open and he saw Gray sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, looking up at him. A dictionary was in one hand and a notepad and pen in the other. “What are you doing?” Dylan asked him. “You’re going to laugh at me,” Gray said softly. “I won’t.” “It’s silly, but, every day I pick up my dictionary and I just flip to a random page. I choose the third word down, and I write a poem on that word, using its definition. It’s my way of expanding my vocabulary. I read a book that told a narrative story in poetry and it utilized similar poetry as a technique in getting the character’s emotions across through new words he learned in school. He made his own sentences as examples of the word in a free style poem. I thought maybe it’d help me. I’ve been doing this for months, and it’s been a cool experience, but today I landed on the word ‘murder’. Of all things, you know? After what happened with Dominic, after the suspicions in my head… it just seemed too convenient. I didn’t know what to do.” “Did you write about it?” “Yeah…” “Let me take a look.” Gray was hesitant, but he handed over the notebook. Dylan picked it up and read the page: mur.der noun '' The crime of unlawfully killing a person Especially with malice aforethought As in: The first time I saw an infected I thought I witnessed a pre-meditated and spiteful murder. As in: There is nothing mindless about murder it requires thought and emotion sometimes the lack thereof and sometimes because it overflows and is uncontrollable. As in: It seems so strange and so sinful and so horrifying to accuse your pastors of murder. Dylan looked up from the paper to see his younger brother shaking, withering away on the lid of the toilet. “This is… it’s really good, Gray,” Dylan said. “But your thoughts about what may or may not have happened last night—those are natural. You’re thinking because it happened and we were designed to process the things around us, not just live without cause or reason. Your writing is great, don’t ever forget these things… Why are you shaking?” “I’ve never showed anyone this stuff before,” Gray said softly. “I was nervous of what you’d think of me.” “What did you expect?” “You to laugh. To say it’s stupid.” “Why would I?” “You’ve done it before. With things a lot smaller than this, things that don’t matter as much as this does.” “And that’s why I didn’t laugh, because it means something to you, and I wouldn’t want to hurt you.” Gray sniffled, wiping his nose with his shirt. He sighed and took his notebook back. “Thank you.” “Mom’s waiting for us outside,” Dylan said slowly. “We have a lot to talk about. You have to remember that she’s all we’ve got left now, Gray. Whatever she says, we need to respect that. Okay? We need to.” “Is it something bad? Do you know what’s happening?” Dylan swallowed. He was always taught not to lie. But in this case, he figured a little white lie might be a little less complicating than the truth. “No. But I know we need to just trust her.” Dylan held his hand out and Gray took it. As Gray stood up, he wrapped his arms around Dylan’s waist, pulling him in for a hug. Dylan reciprocated, taking in a deep, labored breath as he did—He was never very good with vulnerability. He saw it as one of Gray’s strengths, and he admired that about his younger brother. But, looking ahead at what was to come outside these church walls, he feared it would be Gray’s greatest weakness, too. ---- Though it was not a new view per say for Padget Knapchuck, the city skyline of New Venice was constantly changing and growing; it never failed to refresh him. He watched in this particular moment from his place on the roof of one of many flourishing new apartment complexes. Much of the construction was only alterations, adding on to existing buildings – building up instead of down and around. From what he understood, the city was going to be flooded, which correlated with the construction being done in the streets. There were construction workers building a strange maze-like pipeline of bricks along the streets below. Other than the flooded streets, a few artificial aquifers were being constructed with higher walls, allowing clean water to be purified and stored. The plan was for three aquifers to be placed around the city’s streets and for it to be filtered and sent through pipes for plumbing. The whole thing was very complicated and way over Padget’s head, but he found it all so fascinating and did his best to figure it out. If he were allowed to, he’d be working on building all of that stuff. He knew it would be a way more legitimate way of living than what he has had to resort to. Reaching into his backpack, Padget produced a phone. He was always impressed with how well nourished New Venice kept their cellular towers. He knew it wasn’t like this everywhere, he’s heard stories. Reddish brown hair, a rounded face, and a bright smile made young Padget a charming fourteen year old. He was smart, too, “a technical prodigy”, his teachers always called him. It was why The Barons made such good use of him. The Barons were a criminal gang that claimed to have gotten its start in Louisville—it was no secret that Louisville was full of bad news and crime was on the rise, but a small group of them survived and fought their way all the way to Paducah. They inserted themselves into this community and it just went to show that, no matter how hard a government could try, rebuilding a society like the one that just fell apart meant that bad seeds were going to be around because struggling people needed a way to find support. Trading goods meant the monopolization of these goods, and that’s what The Barons operated under now. No one really knew how or when Padget—PJ, he called himself—inserted himself into The Barons, how he became their organizer and their self-defined “quartermaster”, but everyone who knew about it knew why he did. He often spoke fondly of his twin brother, Pierce, telling stories with a giddy smile on his face about some of their misadventures. He regarded fondly about the time Pierce practically ''begged him between giggles to use his finger to etch in the letters “F-A-R-T” in the new cement of their neighbor’s driveway when they were six. It was almost as if he’d forgotten that Pierce had died, because then when people would ask why they’d never seen Pierce, PJ’s face would fall and the realization would hit that he was in the present, a time where Pierce existed as nothing now but a faded memory and distant reality. PJ recalled, not quite as fondly, how his father often regarded him with more contempt than he ever did with Pierce. Pierce was a good hunter and a sportier boy, more involved with games that had rules. Their father loved these sort of games. PJ liked to make his own rules: That’s why he liked running, there was nothing involved there but the wind that gathered up at his feet as he gained speed. Pierce and Jarod went skiing, climbing, hunting, and played poker together. PJ would just sit in his room, alone, coming up with some new self-made device and secretly listening to his father play with his brother for hour upon hour, replacing chips with hazelnuts. He was regarded as too strange, too off-color, and his dad was never fond of his quirky personality. Despite telling the story over and over again of why the sock he tied around his forearm was so lucky and important to him, Jarod just never understood why PJ wore that sock-turned-arm-sweatband everywhere. He found it disgusting. They just never clicked. There was one time that PJ asked if he could play hazelnut poker. His father allowed it, and let the twins face off. Pierce was the more competitive one, so fiery and ready to take on anything. It was so easy to get under his skin, and PJ knew that: He won over half of the hazelnuts that night, and he could see the sweat drip and the frustration grow in Pierce’s face. The next hand, PJ was dealt all Hearts to the King. A flush! It was an exuberating moment. He pushed all of his hazelnuts to the middle of the table. Then, Pierce did the same. He offered the silver watch that he got for his birthday the year prior, under his father’s advice of course. PJ thought to himself, Oh my God, he has a better hand than me… So he folded his cards. But Pierce smiled. He had nothing. He was bluffing. While Pierce took it all in good fun and didn’t quite realize just how much that hurt, PJ was stung. Pierce got everything he ever wanted. Always. The brothers loved each other very much, but PJ could not get over the jealousy he had for his own brother, because of how much it was painfully obvious that their father preferred him. Pierce was quite always dealt a much better hand than PJ, and not just in playing cards—that was to be sure. In a sick sense, the same could have been said for the timing of his death. Pierce died before the Plague hit, and PJ thanked whatever cosmic force brought the damned thing for that, but cursed it in the same breath… why him? Why not me? It was just the better hand coming to play again. His death was an accident; they were only twelve, on a hiking trip with their father and sister in the Appalachians. They kept daring each other to do the same stupid things they would do at home—at one point, Pierce climbed a tall tree and hung from a branch upside-down, clinging only with his legs. But that wasn’t what killed him. It was a dare Pierce gave PJ, a dare that PJ didn’t accept: To stand at the edge of the cliff and look down. “It would only be a few seconds,” he remembered Pierce’s voice saying. “Here, if you won’t do it…” Pierce walked confidently over to the edge of the cliff, looked down, and PJ never saw him again. He remembered his scream – so vivid, so terrifying, so unreal. He didn’t look once the screaming started, nor when it ceased. He remembered his father running over, his father grabbing him by the shoulders and yelling right into his face with a voice so broken with grief, “What did you do?” His older sister Winnie hadn’t been the same since, either. She was always spoiled, as daddy’s only girl, but never apathetic. Since Pierce died, it was like the life left the rest of the family. Pierce was the glue that held them together. In the end, it just made PJ feel more empty and purposeless. Winnie and PJ were never close, but she was admittedly never close with Pierce either. The whole situation just caused her to draw even further away from him, though the separation was made easier when she went away to school. It helped PJ in justifying the situation. Not even a year after losing Pierce, now all of this was happening. PJ was in a gang that believed in nothing but domination of the streets and total control of vital, but ignored, resources, and was kicked out of his apartment for insubordination. While the city government – or empire, depending on who you ask – worried about things like flooding the streets or continuing construction and growing crops, The Barons hoarded prescription drugs, canned goods, and weapons. Now he was in it to fend for himself, and the sick irony of having to live on his own and relying solely on this gang meant that he had nothing, and no one, else to fall back on. He tapped the name “Babe” on the screen and held the phone to his ear as the dial tone started up. “PJ?” the voice on the other end said. “Yeah, Jovelyn, just wanted to check in and say that I’m finished for the night,” PJ started. “PJ, thank God, I was just about to call,” Jovelyn sounded exhausted. “It’s your father. He’s dead. I just dropped Winnie off at the station and she’s pretty hysterical. You should go down there and see her.” ~ Winnie was still in the midst of processing all of this. It seemed like just yesterday that she and her father took a road trip on their own together for her move-in day at CUNY. The twins stayed home alone and took care of themselves. The whole ride there, Winnie reveled in how proud her dad was of her. She soaked in every detail. He often told her that she reminded him so much of her mother, which was something she didn’t want to hear—Their mother abandoned them at a young age. She was an alcoholic from what Winnie heard, and a violent one at that. She felt too confined having three kids and a husband, and decided to run off on her own. It was a confusing situation and Winnie did not like hearing that she was a reminder to her dad. But he insisted it was only in image, and while on that trip, he explained to her that her mother would never have taken the initiative to go to college. Winnie didn’t have the heart to tell her father what grades she was getting for her first college semester when she returned home for her first visit. She didn’t want to bring it up in conversation, it felt like something that would remind him of their mother again because she spent the entire semester drinking and not studying. She ended up a lot like her mother and though she was not proud of it, she did not want to stop it. She just wanted to block those ideas and thoughts out of her head and keep enjoying her party lifestyle. He was the only person in Winnie’s life who ever believed in her and she didn’t want to let him down. Funerals were planned in a vastly different way now that New Venice was planning on flooding its streets. They did not want burials, so they built concrete boxes to keep the bodies in, making emptied former office buildings into mausoleums to house and memorialize the fallen. Coffins were not a necessity anymore, and though Winnie wanted to give him a nice sendoff, she didn’t feel an entire service was a necessity either. There was no family left to visit or mourn him other than herself and PJ, and she didn’t feel as if PJ cared too much. From what she heard, PJ was awful to Jarod. Jarod described PJ as a boy who misbehaved often and was never home, who seemed unattached from him. It was always obvious that PJ and Jarod never clicked very well, not in the way he and Pierce ever did at least. And being the only girl, Winnie had a special bond as Daddy’s special princess. The doors opened and she turned to see PJ enter the building. He looked confused and lost. “What the hell happened?” were his first words. “And when were you going to tell me?” “All I know is that he fell and that he’s dead,” Winnie said through tears. “I kind of have a lot to deal with right now, I’d have gotten to you eventually. Sorry.” Those words stung. He wasn’t even priority to tell about his own dad’s death, but he still found himself drawn to her weepy desolate demeanor. Winnie had a good job of turning on the tears and getting her way. PJ walked over to initiate a hug. She accepted, but pulled away quickly. She didn’t even make eye contact with him. He sat at a chair across from her. His eyes never left her, but her eyes trailed to the wall. She didn’t know how to process any of this. What was next? She had no idea. And that terrified her. PJ started to whistle to himself, a way to break the awkward silence and hopefully draw Winnie’s attention to him. She snapped her eyesight forward, glaring at him. “What?” he asked innocently. “You don’t like my whistling?” “It just… it’s not very fitting for the mood right now, PJ.” “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I just wanted you to look at me.” “And now that I am, all I see is that you still have that moronic sock still wrapped around your arm,” Winnie said, rolling her eyes. “Do you even care?” “It’s my lucky sock!” PJ exclaimed defensively. “I don’t see the connection between a sock and my arm and mourning. Just because I haven’t taken it off means I don’t care? Where are you getting your logic, Winnie? You look like you just came straight from the club, why didn’t you change into all black and take off all your makeup?” Winnie folds her arms, a silent “touché”. “Look, this is getting us nowhere,” PJ sighed. “I’m still sort of trying to process all of this, okay? We just handle it in different ways. My way might be whistling, or by rocking my lucky sock like I’ve never rocked it before…” “…While I sob my eyes out like a normal person. I’m going through a trauma here, okay? And I just don’t understand—I don’t understand you guys. I came back home and everything was so… I don’t know, so…” “…Broken?” “Yeah.” “I never understood it either. Do you know he kicked me out last night?” “No. Where did you even sleep?” “Outside. I went to Jovelyn’s, but I should’ve remembered that her parents are on the council and have sticks up their butts.” “He said you hated him.” “It’s not true. You know he never liked me much. But ever since Pierce died, he’d just taken it to a whole new level. I wish we would’ve worked things out.” “I wish I would have known.” She still wasn’t looking at PJ. Winnie never wanted people to know she cared about stuff. It was strange to PJ, who felt everything so freely, so deeply, that his sister could be so detached. There was emotion in her words, though. She truly did wish. “So what’s next?” “We give him a funeral. Then we move on. Hopefully in the next few weeks, school will open back up and I can go back to New York…” “Are you serious?” “I can’t stay here forever, PJ. I hate it here. And now that Dad’s gone? I don’t know what I’m going to do.” Once again, only thinking of herself. Classic Winnie, PJ thought. He sighed in frustration and just looked at his feet. He didn’t know what Winnie was doing or thinking, and frankly, at this point he was way past caring. He did his best and now he had to wrestle with the fact that he was so emotionless, so empty. He didn’t know what he was feeling right now, but it certainly wasn’t sad. Despite it all, his father was still his father, and they did have some good times. PJ certainly wasn’t mourning, and that scared him. ---- Declan was breaking into Gwen’s apartment and it was an odd feeling. He slid his fingers under the small rug outside of the door to her apartment, found her key, and slipped it into the lock. The door swung open and Declan stepped inside. He was able to smell the familiar scent of Gwen’s perfume. She was always so well put together and her apartment reflected that. She did not have much furniture, but what she did have was very nice. The apartment was spotless. Declan was here on a mission, but he was tempted to snoop around a bit. And so he did. He’d never broken into a home before, but at least he had the comfort of getting permission for his first—and he hoped last—foray. He felt like he at least earned this much. He started to go through the first closet in the hallway. Just shuffled through things. She didn’t have very many belongings. This was logical, he thought to himself, considering how much Gwen moved around and that this apartment was not something she lived in prior to the Plague. She probably had very little, if anything, of personal value left. He found a tiny red box. It had a velvety, soft texture to it as his fingers ran across the top. He popped it open. Inside was a ring with a diamond. It was nothing exquisite. It was fairly simple, which surprised Declan. But it was in pristine condition and well taken care of. It was something that Declan recognized had incredible personal value to Gwen. Otherwise why would it be here? It must have been from someone special. He closed the box, felt suddenly dirty about what he was doing, and then placed it back where it belong and shut the door. You’re here for a specific reason, Declan, he scolded himself. Focus! Declan retreated to the pantry Gwen had described to him in person. It was cherry oak and propped next to the refrigerator. He opened it up and found numerous bottles of alcoholic beverages. He was surprised by the sheer amount of them, especially considering the times and of all the things for her to collect, why grab all the booze? Then as he processed this thought, he understood why. It was a perfect way to drown the sorrows away. Maybe she had a lot of sorrows. Maybe he could help her. Who am I kidding? I couldn’t even help myself. Declan took a bottle of MacCutcheon whiskey—the expensive kind, as Gwen called it—popped it open, and placed it on the counter. He dug through the cabinets and found a coffee mug… multiple, actually. He smiled to himself at this discovery, muttering, “And she said she didn’t like coffee.” He poured some of the MacCutcheon into a black mug, capped it, and then looked at the remainder of the bottle. He started thinking about what happened with Gwen and Jarod Knapchuck earlier that day. He started thinking about what it meant for them. She was attractive, beautiful, and he hoped to win some points with her. But then he started to remember why the guy died – her lips touched his. He started to imagine the implications for himself. Imagining that he got close enough, kissed her, and he was the one to turn. He was happy this wasn’t the case. But now that he was being torn between that happiness and the disappointment he felt in the idea that he may never be able to kiss the woman he so desired, Declan was caught in a tough place. A huge tornado of emotions that just kept swirling around him, but he was never able to grasp just one of them. He felt like a teenager again. Butterflies in his chest as he thought of the pretty girl in the cafeteria, the girl he would eventually marry, the girl who’d betray him, the girl he’d eventually kill for… Once his brain went down that avenue, Declan concluded that it was time for him to drown away some of his sorrows, too. He took a quick swig and downed it. Strong stuff. He coughed, gagged, and held his face over the sink, spitting it out. “…And now I remember why I don’t drink.” ~ There was no doubt about the nature of her bite to Gwen now, as she sat in the cell of Paducah’s county jail, staring at the wall. This was her choice. She turned herself in for the murder of Jarod Knapchuck. She had to. She didn’t want to endanger or infect anyone else. She heard footsteps, and decided to finally turn and face the bars. Declan walked into the room with a faint smile on his lips, holding a coffee cup in his left hand. Another figure – taller, thinner – entered behind him. It was Bryce. “I brought Bryce like you asked,” Declan said. “And only Bryce.” “Thank you, Declan,” Gwen said. Declan handed Gwen the coffee mug through the bars. “Brought you the goods,” he said with a smile. She returned it as she took a swig. She made a face in reaction to the strength of the drink. Bryce’s eyes never left her sight. “What happened out there?” Bryce asked her. “Jarod Knapchuck hit his head,” Gwen explained. “So I went over to give him CPR and when he woke… he was one of them.” “Infected?” “Yes.” There was a silent pause. Bryce attempted to process this as Gwen sipped from her mug. “Without further knowledge on how this all works, I think that you made the right choice. But now the question is how to handle the public? I would have preferred it to be kept quiet, but with so many witnesses and people talking, there goes your reputation and in its place comes the panic of our people.” “I’m not going to lie to people,” Gwen said. “I’m dangerous.” “As long as you don’t go around kissing every person you know, I don’t see the problem here,” Bryce said incredulously. “What if there’s more to this? We don’t know what this is—what ''I ''am.” “These people look to you like you’re Christ reborn, Gwen! To lock you up like this? What do you think is going to stir in our people? They’re going to ask for our heads—“ “Assuming our populace is as barbaric as you think, it’s my head they’ll want, and that should be my concern, not yours or anyone else’s. But part of me thinks they’ll be a little more forgiving.” “You really are taking this whole messiah thing to heart, aren’t you? And forgive me for the cynicism. I hate most of the people I meet,” Bryce said, his dry voice dripping with heavy doses of both sarcasm and honesty. “But my own moral restrictions prevent me from adding the copious amounts of chlorine that the gene pool so clearly needs. The point is that I’m not the optimist you are. You see forgiveness where I see contempt. That’s admirable.” “Does his family know yet?” Gwen asked, her voice cracking. She took a chug of her ‘coffee’. “Yeah, they know. He had two kids. No wife.” “How are they holding up?” “Stop beating yourself up over this crap.” “Are they okay?” Bryce saw the sheer emotion in her eyes: She truly did care. She felt remorse. He admired that. But this isn’t why he was here. He had a job to do, a mess to clean up – Gwen’s mess, but a mess worth cleaning nonetheless. “We need to talk what you want to do next.” “I want nothing more than to sit here, drink my coffee, and sleep the night away. A decision can wait until tomorrow.” “Gwen…” “Please,” Gwen pleaded between sips. “I need time.” “After all she’s been through,” Declan chimed in. “I think she deserves rest.” Bryce nodded curtly. He could respect that. “Fine,” he said softly. “But this will be what we discuss first thing in the morning. This can’t wait much longer. I’ll make sure the Knapchuck kids are in the dark for now, but they deserve answers by morning. And so does this whole city, you understand?” “Thank you,” Gwen said. Bryce turned and left the room. Declan remained with Gwen, looking at her through the bars. “Did I get the right booze?” Declan asked. “Yes. Just as terrible and strong as I remember. Just what I needed.” “I offered you good coffee. I figured you’ve had enough terrible and strong today.” “I’m incredibly self-deprecating, Declan.” “No, I know self-deprecating when I see it, Gwen… You… are a whole other beast.” “I’m a complex girl, sweetheart.” She took another swig. “You’re a lightweight aren’t you? Why did you want alcohol so bad? You really think it’s going to help?” “Maybe not in the long run, but it sure does feel good right now.” “Give me the cup, Gwen, you need to sleep…” “Why take my cup? Are you leaving?” “Yeah, I can’t…” “Stay with me. Please.” “I can’t, Gwen. You’re drunk.” “You need to understand… why…” “What on this beautiful green and blue earth are you mumbling about?” “I forgave you so quickly. I was embarrassed. Embarrassed that I can’t be upfront with people. You were so brave to tell me what you did.” “You understand because you’re a good person, a forgiving person, I never questioned why… I’m so grateful, Gwen, but you don’t need to…” “I did something bad, too, Declan. It was assuring to know that I wasn’t alone. And now someone else is dead because of me.” Someone else. Declan looked into Gwen’s icy blue eyes, misty with tears. She shook her head. This was something so shameful, so painful, that she was hiding behind those eyes. Deaths *Dominic Trivia *The title, "Jump, Push, Fall" refers to a lot of the character predicaments. **'Jump' refers to the way Gwen jumps into her situation and takes control on her own. **'Push' refers to the push Dylan has to give Gray in their storyline. **'Fall' refers to the fall from grace Gwen experiences, as well as Pierce's physical fall. *"The Crossover" by Kwame Alexander is the novel Gray references when talking about a narrative poetry book that inspired him to start writing poems based on the definitions of words he finds in the dictionary. *MacCutcheon whisky is a reference to the television show, "Lost", which featured this fictional brand of expensive whisky in multiple episodes. Category:Epiphany Category:Issues Category:Epiphany Issues